


Carry On

by tiffany rawlins (wearemany), wearemany



Series: The Long Run [8]
Category: NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, F/M, Future Fic, M/M, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-06-25
Updated: 2002-06-25
Packaged: 2017-10-16 03:08:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/167772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearemany/pseuds/tiffany%20rawlins, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearemany/pseuds/wearemany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After The Long Run.</p><p>It shouldn't take a reunion concert to get them all in the same room again. But it does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carry On

**Author's Note:**

> When I first posted The Long Run, I thought I had one sequel in me. This one. All the others were little daydreams, and this one nearly drove me insane, partly because sometimes I'd painted myself into tight corners and partly because, after nearly four years of writing the post-band landscape, they'd finally caught up. I was ready to let them be, but this story wouldn't stay quiet.

_love is coming, love is coming to us all  
_

  
It shouldn't take a reunion concert to get them all in the same room again. But it does.

*

JC is already there. He and his boyfriend have been staying in the guest room across the hall from Chris and Lance's bedroom for almost two weeks. Chris is at O'Hare picking up Joey. Justin gets in mid-afternoon.

Everyone's coming for dinner and Lance has been standing in the salad dressing aisle for Lord knows how long because it's just now hitting him what he's gone and done. Everyone's coming for dinner. All of them. All five of them together around a table, and what was he thinking? He just wanted to prove that they could all be in the same room together and not fall apart. It's not that easy, of course. There's more to staying together than not falling apart.

It doesn't really matter if he picks the new creamier Caesar dressing or the new better-tasting light ranch, he can't stop things now. In a few hours they'll all be in the same room for the first time in ten years, and it was all Lance's idea. Lance has been planning this for months, years, since the day Chris got him to pick up the phone and call Justin. He made this happen one awkward conversation at a time and even if he wanted to back out, it's too late.

He doesn't want to back out. He wants to do this one thing for Chris. This thing that Chris doesn't even know he wants to ask for, to have all the guys under his roof, healthy and happy and glad to be there. Chris put them together in the first place and even if Lance wasn't in love he'd think Chris deserves this much. This little.

It's not like they've all signed their lives over to each other again. It's just one benefit concert. He picks a bottle at random and checks his list. Honey. They need honey.

*

Lance and the groceries and Chris and Joey all get home at the same time.

"I forgot to tell you that we're out of dog food and coffee," Chris says, pecking Lance on the lips. He and Joey are both holding suitcases and two of the dogs are jumping up and down.

"Where are the girls?" Lance asks, shifting a paper bag to his hip and bumping the garage door switch with his shoulder.

"Oh," Chris says. They follow Lance into the kitchen. "Joey forgot 'em. He said something about baggage claim being really crowded."

Lance chuckles and sets the bags on the counter. "I thought you were past that," he says, and then Joey tackles him against the island, holding him in a long bear hug.

"Audrey got some kind of throwing-up flu last night," Joey says with his chin hooked over Lance's shoulder, "and Bri didn't want to come alone, so they are with their respective mothers and I am officially on my own for the week."

"Hardly," Chris laughs. "You can have your own john, though."

Joey lets go long enough to punch Chris in the shoulder. "Actually, I'm gonna go call and make sure they're okay. I hate being away for longer than a day or two."

"You're just trying to win that father of the year thing three years running," Lance says, ducking around and hiding between the refrigerator doors while he unloads the food. "There's coffee in the freezer," he says and stands back up. "But we're going to have to go out for dog food."

JC and his boyfriend come down the stairs in a tumble of vowel sounds and luggage. They met on an Italian beach. Orlando introduced himself and interpreted JC's enthusiasm about his name as a come-on. JC said it had to be fate. It'd be a sweeter story if they hadn't spent the entire last week with a haze of tension following them around like Pigpen's cloud of dirt.

Orlando stops when JC yells Joey's name and throws his arms around Joey's neck. Lance hands Chris the folded paper bags so he can sneak a look at Chris' face. Chris is smiling, lots of teeth and amusement and he grabs at Lance's forearm and squeezes. Just having JC in the house has made Chris happy, made him young in some way Lance hasn't seen since he came to Chicago. He leans in and kisses Chris' neck just because he can.

"Look," Orlando says, and they all turn and stare at him. "I'm going to miss my flight."

"Don't go away mad," Chris says. "Just --"

Lance elbows him. They like Orlando. He's pretty sure JC still likes Orlando. "What's going on?"

JC sighs. "He has to go, it's this whole --"

"Business," Orlando says. "You understand."

"It's his dad," JC says. "I mean, not his dad. The lawyers." Orlando's dad, who owned half the boats in the Mediterranean, died last year. Orlando's a nice guy, he's nice to JC and he has perfect olive skin, but he's really kind of a playboy and inheriting a shipping company wasn't part of his life plan. Or JC's.

"Chris will drive you," Lance offers. Maxim barks.

Chris throws up his hands. "I'm an excellent driver."

Lance checks his watch. "Pick up Justin while you're there?"

Everyone gets quiet and finally Chris smacks a loud kiss on Lance's cheek and says, "Jeez, what do you think everyone's acting all weird about?"

"No idea," Lance says.

JC smiles into his hand and his shoulders shake a little, holding in a giggle.

Joey laughs. "Don't look at me," he says. "I was just trying not to, you know, dominate the conversation."

"Oh, dominate this," Chris says, and picks up Orlando's bag. "I thought we were in a hurry, cognato."

Orlando holds JC's hand and kisses his knuckles, and then they all say goodbye and the garage door clicks back into place as they pull away.

"I'm taking a nap," JC announces, and goes back upstairs. Joey grabs his phone. Lance goes to check that they have enough clean towels. What can you do, this whole thing was his idea.

*

Joey and Lance sit with their feet in the lake because the sun hasn't quite yet reached its broiling zenith and they have a couple hours until they need to start dinner.

"So then Chris hangs her by her ankles off the end of the dock," Joey says, "until she starts singing 'Bye Bye Bye.' And he yells something about how that's what she gets for pretending she's not the one who took the moonman, and then jumps, or, you know, accidentally throws them both into the ocean."

Lance laughs, shaking his head. Warm summer sun and Joey and stories about crazy shit Chris tried. It's like old times.

"Kel almost kills him right there. And me. She tells him he's lost babysitting rights for a year or until he grows the fuck up, whichever's later."

Lance digs his heels into wet sand. "I don't remember that at all. How could I forget that?"

Joey skims a rock out across the low waves. "You weren't there," he says.

"You sure this wasn't the time with the alligator boat and Audrey almost getting her hand chopped off and you yanking my adventure privileges for a year?"

"Nope," Joey says. "This was way before that." He throws another stone and squints. "You missed some stuff, man."

Sometimes, for an hour or two or even ten or twelve, Lance forgets he was a high-functioning alcoholic asshole for so goddamned long, that all the tall tales he's inherited along with Chris aren't actually memories.

"I'm sorry," he says, and Joey sighs.

"That was supposed to be a happy story."

"It was, it was. You know I love stories about Chris and the girls. Gives me something to tell my momma when she starts complaining how we only have dogs."

Joey shrugs, bumping their shoulders. "You can always have one of mine. I mean, I got two."

Lance tucks his arm in Joey's and kisses his temple. "Promise me you won't say that in front of Chris. You know he'll --"

"Yeah," Joey says. He pushes himself up with a grunt and then reaches a hand down to Lance. "I know how he gets."

*

Lance is elbow-deep in carrot peels when the phone rings. He makes JC answer it.

JC grins and flicks his hair out of his eyes and says, "I think maybe you better tell him that yourself."

"What?" Lance asks, rinsing off. He reaches out a wet hand for the phone and JC shakes his head.

"Chris, um, says he wants all of us to know that you have his favorite dick in the whole world. And also he can't remember J's flight number."

Lance has seen Justin twice in three years, both on solo trips to LA for work. Everything they had to split up or sign away their lawyers did by FedEx long ago. When they graduated from awkward, still-angry phone calls to highly choreographed lunches where bright spikes of regret and bitterness lurked just beyond the shields of their sunglasses, Lance always called Chris from the car on his way there. Not to say anything dramatic, just to remind Chris he knew how much there was to come back to. He's never been able to fool Chris into thinking there was any other reason for those calls. He knows that's what's going on now.

He tries to smile to himself but Joey catches him, swatting his ass with a kitchen towel and hooting. Lance has gotten used to the luxury of an occasional private emotion, but it's Joey so he just rolls his eyes and points to an itinerary pinned to the fridge.

JC reads it off and then cackles again. "No, I will -- no, Chris. I'm not touching that one. I mean -- stop it, you know that's not what I meant, you dirty old man. I'm hanging up now."

*

"And so I say, 'What do you mean, I'm too short to be on your motherfucking arts council? Many, many of the great artists were midgets. Midgets!"

Chris and Justin come around the corner from the garage and it turns out Justin's Chris impression is still pretty good. Eight years with Justin and three here with Chris and by now Lance would have thought he could tell the difference. All the important things have been in Chris' voice, short and soft when it was bad, long and rambling when it was good.

But Justin walks into Chris and Lance's house and he's still the one calling the plays. Chris smiles at everybody and pulls the door to the garage shut. Justin is still taller.

Lance wipes his hands dry and puts them in his pockets. Maybe trying to do something nice for his boyfriend by inviting his ex to town for a week wasn't the best idea. Maybe he should have thought of that before. JC runs his fingers through his hair and Joey taps out a drum roll on the kitchen counter. There's a heavy second of anticipation, like they're all on pause, and then Chris says, "Lo, they have assembled in waiting for the young king."

Justin pushes his sunglasses up on his head and hits Chris from behind, a sharp thwap to the back of the neck. He smiles like a crown of jewels and looks right at Lance. "Hey guys," he says, in his own voice.

Joey claps his hands and squeals, "Group hug, group hug!" He gathers them up close and they have no choice but to fall on Justin like a pack of wolves. Chris' hand is warm on the small of Lance's back and JC's standing on his foot and Joey's shoulder is dangerously near his chin and Justin smells exactly the same.

In the press of elbows and knees and necks, he exhales and decides to surrender control to the chaos of the group. Lance says a prayer to himself, like the kind they used to make before a show, more about their faith in each other than in a higher power. Please let this work, he asks. Let us work.

*

They still remember how to eat dinner together, which is a start. Lance thinks about how many meals they've eaten, on buses, before interviews, between set-ups at shoots, at venues, after shows, at after-after parties. He's multiplying years on the road by breakfast, lunch and dinner by five when Joey slaps the table so hard that dishes clatter. Joey's got his mouth open, doing some impression of one of the girls, Lance hopes. JC is holding his chest like his heart hurts, laughing and rocking his chair back on two legs. Justin snorts and tears stream from Chris' eyes.

Lance takes a long sip of ice water, cool on his fiery throat. He forgot what it takes to talk over four guys all trying to be the center of attention. Chris wipes at his face and blindly reaches for Lance's knee under the table. They've all known each other too long to be trying to impress anyone, it's just their natural state of being, wanting more of each other and everything else in their path. Lance puts his hand over Chris' to steady himself in the rush of more, more, more. He doesn't need anything more than what he's got. He can't imagine a day when he doesn't have to remind himself of that.

Justin tells a story about a problem with the sound at a concert, where he wound up sounding like he was on helium for two verses before he realized it wasn't just his monitor. JC swears that Orlando has a cousin who is even better looking, and richer, and tries to tell Justin that they'd make a great couple. Justin rolls his eyes and says, "That's what you said about that guy from France, you know, the guy Orlando knew from school or something and he's sooo hot, Justin, you'll love him. He had one eyebrow, C."

Joey tries to tip JC's chair over and whines. "You never want to set me up with rich Italians."

"Just go jerk off," Chris says. "It's easier, and you're a sure thing."

"I'm a whore for myself," Joey agrees amiably, patting his belly and burping loudly.

"Cause nobody else would put up with that," JC says.

"Hey, I'll have you know --"

Chris stands up. "You've got all week to get in each other's hair, girls," he says. Everybody gets quiet and Chris looks surprised, like he wasn't sure they'd all still listen. Lance tried to explain that to Chris a few months ago, when Chris didn't think everybody would want to come. "Nobody ever paid attention to what I wanted," he said, and no amount of convincing by Lance would change his memories, his version of events.

There's another long silence after JC and Chris clear the table, not uncomfortable so much as full, and they move to sit in the big living room. They talk about what kind of ice cream everybody wants for dessert, the best ice cream flavors of all time, the preferred way to lick an ice cream cone, if each of them was an ice cream sundae what combinations they'd be. It's just like they never got off the bus, like it hasn't been ten years and they don't know yet that the bullshit conversations don't last forever, won't block out the sound of a million managers and fans and the media telling them what to do. They know better but it's nice to pretend for a night that things are that easy.

Chris is insistent that Lance is a pistachio nut-cookie dough combo, but he's also grinning and loose-limbed, licking his fingers and threatening to go after Justin with a dull ice cream scoop if he doesn't at least try the Chris Kirkpatrick Counter-Clockwise Cone-Licking Method. "No, no," Justin cries, hands over his face, and Chris tackles him on the living room rug. Lance always forgets that Justin slept with Chris, too. He doesn't remember Justin ever saying Chris' name again when he came back. He's not sure, though. He was pretty busy.

Lance looks up, back over his shoulder. It's almost dark, the lake dusky and purple in the coming night. Mid-summer and it stays light until past nine, but it's been hours since Lance checked to see what time, how long it's been, how long they've survived. They made it this far, and finally he admits that if the five of them couldn't figure out how to spend a few days together there'd be more wrong with the world than he had any idea how to fix.

"Hey," JC says. "You're staying here, J, right?"

Justin picks himself up off the carpet and reaches down to help Chris to his feet. "Nah, I was gonna --" There's a chorus of disagreement and Justin waves it off with a tired smile, like they're a surly crowd. "Honestly, I was just gonna go downtown and --"

"Stay here," Lance says.

Justin straightens his clothes very carefully and doesn't meet anyone's eyes, like he's waiting for Lance to change his mind.

"For real, it's late," Lance says. "You can go to the hotel tomorrow if you want."

"It'll be like old times," Joey says.

Justin laughs carefully. "Which old times?"

Joey crosses his arms. "C'mon, you know what I mean."

JC and Chris are sitting very still and Lance breathes in slowly. He's not going to ask again, if Justin doesn't want to stay he doesn't have to, it doesn't mean things are falling apart, it's just sleeping arrangements, it's --

"I'm gonna bring in your bags," Chris says.

Justin puts a hand out to stop him. "Jesus, you old fart, I'm not taking the blame if you keel over carrying all my shit. I'll get them, okay?"

Lance touches Chris' shoulder and says, "Okay. Thanks."

JC and Joey talk about luggage until Justin comes back with a suitcase in each hand. Lance feels Chris' hand on the back of his neck, squeezing.

"I'm so ready to crash," Joey says, standing up.

JC pulls him by the shirtsleeve up the stairs. "So long, farewell," he sings, and Joey slaps his ass and says he's never singing a word in German again, not even if he gets paid, and then they're gone and it's quiet in the room again.

"Tell me," Chris says seriously. He puts an arm up on the back of the couch.

"What?" Justin asks, sitting forward on the ottoman, and Lance just smiles and shakes his head.

"How do you solve a problem like Maria?" Chris laughs and winks at Justin, who's never stopped falling for Chris' shit.

"Aw, fuck off," Justin says, but he's grinning.

"Just waiting for my cue," Chris says. He swoops down and kisses Lance hard on the lips, rubs his knuckles over Justin's head and then covers a long yawn with the back of his hand. "Let the dogs out again before you come to bed?"

"Yeah," Lance says. "Sure, yeah." Chris takes the stairs two at a time, even though his knees will be sore in the morning, and Lance feels like he just lost his translator. Or his chaperone.

Justin scoots back onto the big chair, crossing his ankles on the ottoman. Lance clears his throat. If it was colder he could start a fire, just for something to do with his hands. He stands up and straightens the pictures on the mantle, wiping off imaginary dust.

"So I guess they think we got something to talk about," Justin says.

Lance laughs and is halfway across the room before he remembers they took out the wet bar when they expanded the solarium, and he doesn't drink anyway any more and, Lord, let us all work.

It's not like he hasn't talked to Justin since he left. They've talked plenty, two whole meals and more phone calls than he could begin to count but all the same they haven't been alone in the same room since Lance walked in on Justin and that guy and walked right back out. Justin never came after him. They've both said sorry, said things are better this way. Lance has never considered how much harder it is to be so sure when the truth is sitting in your living room. Things are better but that doesn't mean they've forgotten what they were to each other. What they did to each other.

Lance stares at a photo on the mantle, him and Chris on the beach in Hawaii two years ago. It's Chris who thinks they've got something to talk about, and he did this whole thing for Chris, so the least he can do is try to listen to what Justin's saying. "I guess they do," he says finally.

"You got anything we should talk about?" Justin asks, and Lance doesn't have to look to know there's a shit-eating grin on his face.

He turns around anyway, settles into the corner of the wide leather couch. He fights a rush of thirsty guilt, for still loving Justin deep down somewhere and for still wishing there was easy blame lying around for the taking. "Well," he says, casting around for something else to confess. "It's not really like the foundation needs a fundraiser. I mean, I could've --"

"No kidding," Justin says, with a sharp grin. "Lance, man, we're all here because we want to be, not because we think some kid is gonna end up on the streets because we didn't show up at a benefit to sing a few songs. We're just happy you gave us a good excuse."

Lance feels like a selfish bastard. All this time, this careful plan for Chris and he wasn't thinking about whether it would make everyone else happy, too. "You'd never guess from all the bitching about plans and who's gonna sing what."

"Oh, you know what that's about."

"Yeah," Lance says. "Your mom always said it was the best kind of curse, too many people who care too damned much."

"I thought that was your mom."

"No, that was all yours," Lance says.

The day Justin went on MTV and told everybody in the world about them, Lynn and Lance stood off-camera and Lynn squeezed his hand until his eyes watered. "You know how my boy likes to fall in love," she said. "Don't get distracted and fuck this up." Lynn was always in the middle of things but Lance kind of misses her anyway. He misses the belief that someone else could make them keep it together.

"So." Justin taps an awkward rhythm on the arm of the chair and takes a little breath from high up in his chest. "So I've got a thing to talk about, actually."

Lance can tell. It's been three years and Justin's gone out on the town with some pretty boys, some actors, a music writer who Lance met on a panel after they'd already split up. Lance knows he's been out there, looking and apparently not finding whatever it is he's figured out he wants. Lance didn't do all this to make things harder on the others, and so he asks, "You seeing someone?"

Justin scratches his chin and says, "Yeah. Well, no." Lance doesn't laugh out loud but Justin does. "I was, man, I don't know. I don't know."

"Is he a good guy?" It's the question Chris would ask.

"Uh," Justin says, "well, yeah. Except the part where she's a not a guy."

Lance swallows, dry throat scratchy and taunting. "And the part where you're not sure y'all are going out."

"Yeah." Justin rubs at his forehead. "So I guess actually it's a couple things." He sounds earnest and worried.

Lance is waiting to have a real strong reaction. All this, they go through all this and now Justin is in his and Chris' living room trying to figure out how to say he's not all that gay. It's probably Lance's fault Justin is trying to apologize for that, because once upon a time Lance made what sounded like an ultimatum about his boyfriend bringing girls along for the photo op.

If they were gonna have a talk about that part, about how Justin ran off to Chris to prove he couldn't be threatened like that, about how fast he came back when Lance finally called, about what that meant Justin thought he owed him -- well, they would have had that talk already.

Lance sits back and crosses his legs. He smiles and says, "So what's her name?"

*

Chris has left the bedroom door open a notch. He's asleep with a book on his chest, The Sound and the Fury, from the complete set of Faulkner that he gave Lance last year for Christmas and then borrowed right back to read himself. Lance gets undressed and brushes his teeth and when he pries the book out of Chris' hands, Chris mumbles and blinks.

"You're asleep," Lance says, pulling the covers over them both.

"I was."

"You were trying to stay up."

"I just thought you might want to, you know..." Lance runs his hand down Chris' chest. "Talk, I thought you might want to talk."

Lance laughs. "I'm all talked out." He could think of some other things for them to do but Chris is barely even conscious. He wraps his arm around Chris' shoulder and pulls him in.

"Everything okay?" He noses into Lance's neck.

"Justin's got a girlfriend, except she's sick of pretending she's not his girlfriend because somebody convinced Justin he was gonna alienate all his fans if they found out. So now she's told him he's gotta be open about it or they're staying broken up. And it turns out he really likes her. Like, really likes her more than he had realized. And so he feels awful and confused and, you know."

Chris props his head up. "Seriously?"

"I am way too tired to make up a story like that. Jesus, I forgot what all it takes to keep up with everybody."

Chris settles down onto Lance and the pillows again. "Man, the more things change, huh."

"Her name is Rosa," Lance says. "Go back to sleep."

*

Lance wakes up on his back, with Chris lying on his stomach between Lance's open legs. Chris is staring at him like he's been waiting. Lance yawns and tucks his feet around the back of Chris' calves.

Chris kisses Lance's chest, pushing his t-shirt up. "I love how slutty you are in your sleep," he growls, nudging Lance's thighs farther apart.

Lance had been dreaming about their first big tour, the one with the flying, but in the dream he'd been reaching out for Chris' hand, because Chris is always sure they'll both fall, never wants to know Lance is jumping out of planes or off bridges or skyscrapers until after it's over and it's too late to worry. "For you," Lance mumbles, fingers in Chris' hair, tracing the edges of Chris' sideburns, rough against sleepy skin.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Chris says. His mouth is wet and warm on Lance's hipbone. "All for me, I know."

"C'mere," Lance says, shoving his sweats down and pulling his knees up around Chris' ribs. "I want you in me." Three years with Chris and his heart still beats faster when he asks like that, like one day Chris is going to say no.

Chris never says no. Chris fucks him, hands skating down Lance's sides and under his ass, warm and sure, steady thrusts like a marathon, and Lance loves Chris but he doesn't fool himself that he's got anything to do with how they've managed to work this long, because that's all Chris, Chris being stubborn in love and stuck on Lance like a shadow. They're going to finish this life together. Chris will make sure of it.

Chris rocks into him and Lance only realizes he's moaning aloud when Chris won't take his fingers out of Lance's mouth. Chris bites Lance's ear and hisses, "People, people here," and Lance arches his back. Chris' hand holds him up, fingers fanned across his tailbone until he comes.

*

Joey is wearing an apron Lance has never seen before and singing a song about eggs. "L'eggs, l'eggs, frogs legs, French eggs, l'eggs until you begs," he sings, loudly and possibly to the tune of "Row, Row, Row Your Boat."

JC sits on a stool at the island, eating grated cheese and smiling. Justin frowns into his coffee, like he can will it into working faster. "Nothing rhymes with pancakes," he says. "Is that why can't we have pancakes?" Chris cuffs his ear and reaches for the pot, refilling Justin's cup.

"About time you two got out of bed," Joey says, and Lance socks him in the shoulder. He and Justin never managed to stick around for a morning after until they'd all gone their separate ways, so Lance figures he can probably stand a few good-natured rounds of teasing about Chris. But he doesn't have to act like he likes it.

"Yeah," Chris says, casually. "We don't usually finish the ravishing portion of our day until noon or so."

"I tell you," Justin says, "one thing that's nice about being out on the road alone is never having to put up with all of you in the morning."

Chris takes Justin's mug out of his hand. "You're going out with me and the dogs, man. You need to run off your morning mood cause none of us are still putting up with that. Come on."

Justin goes, bitching and moaning as he puts on his shoes. Lance leans his elbows on the counter and thinks about what he wants to eat.

"So you're being pretty cool about the whole thing," Joey says, and JC nods in agreement.

"'Bout what." He wants toast. "Lots of things rhyme with toast," he says.

"It's my song, and don't change the subject. About Justin and his girlfriend."

Lance pushes up and turns around to find the bread he wants. None of them ever could keep anything to themselves. "It's not about me," he says.

"Yeah, I already promised him we won't kick him out of the house or make any jokes about it being a phase," Joey says. "But still, it's gotta be a little weird."

Lance shrugs. "This is all weird," he says. "People go on. We all went on even though maybe we needed to do a better job of sticking around for each other. Doesn't mean I don't love y'all."

"Yeah, but --"

"Joey," JC says, shaking his head, and Joey shuts up. Jesus, how Lance misses having someone around to play traffic cop during these kinds of talks. JC says, "It's okay, Lance."

"Yeah, it is." Lance spreads his hands on the island. "Look. We spent eight years busting our asses, trying so hard to look like a happy couple, and never paid attention to what it cost us. And now --"

Lance looks down at the smooth squares of tile, even right-angled edges like little four-way stops. He glances back up and JC and Joey are both frowning a little, just in the ways that someone who's known them twenty years knows where to look.

"Now," Lance says, "I don't know that I'll ever deserve Chris. But I'm sure gonna hope like hell that Justin gets as good a break as I did."

"You deserved a second chance, man," JC says. "Everybody does."

Lance shakes his head. "No, I didn't. But I'm taking it anyway."

"Fruitcake!" Joey yells, and splashes egg on the counter.

JC grins. "Outbreak." JC was always good at this game. He turns to Lance.

"Um, um. Cheesecake?"

Joey rolls his eyes. "Mistake," he says. "You're a fruitcake mistake."

"Snowflake!" JC claps his hands over his head.

Lance goes to see where he left their schedule for the day. "Come on, guys," he says over his shoulder. "Gimme a break."

*

They have three days to get ready for the show, and really they only need a few hours of rehearsal before things start to fall together in the right places. Lance can't remember any of the lyrics but the choruses, JC can still hit every note like he's got the masters inside where his lungs should be, and Justin is talking very seriously about arrangements with Joey and the keyboard player. Chris and Lance are hanging out behind the bar, giving each other shit. It's like a thousand rehearsals they had over ten years. A smaller room than anything since Europe, but everything else is the same.

"C'mon guys," Justin says, and they fall into line, verse after verse until the harmony is tight and full. Lance shifts his weight and tucks a foot between the wooden legs of his stool. They could do a few mid-sized stops, stretch out this feeling another month or two. A couple dozen nights backstage, talking and teasing and smoothing out whatever rough edges they all have left.

They could do it all exactly how they want, only the venues they want, only the press they want, only the songs they want, just like this week. He still fields enough calls from TV producers and editors to know the curiosity factor alone would sell the tickets. One big field trip around America with the same four guys who'd been there the first time.

Joey misses the music more than he'll admit because he knows he made the right call to stay closer to home. JC needs to find his own groove again, and Justin needs to dig out that cocky assurance he never used to question. Chris could probably take or leave the idea, but he'd be glad he came once they got out there.

A new waitress dances with the bar manager in the doorway, smiling and laughing up at him. They all agree to call it a day while they're still in a good mood.

*

Joey and Justin volunteer to handle a morning of radio interviews. Chris heads in to catch up on business at the bar, and Lance takes JC down to his office in the Loop. JC's always appreciated a free tour.

"So I come in two or three days a week, plus I'm teaching talent management to business majors and contract negotiations to actors and musicians." He shows off the wall in the conference room covered with photos of kids in spotlights, grinning like fools and taking bows. "And then we give some money out to folks with good ideas on how to keep people from getting screwed or screwing anybody else."

"So it's like Save the Music," JC says.

"More like save the musicians," Lance says. JC has more lines around his eyes now but is just as beautiful when he laughs, and Lance will keep saying stupid shit as long as that's the reaction he gets. "I used to talk people into crappy deals so they could get a foot in the door." He shrugs. "This is better."

"You weren't ever that bad," JC says, then stops in the door to Lance's office. "Wow, the view here is great." There's the city on one side and the lake on the other, no smog and a brilliant blue sky, a grid of streets like lines on graph paper. The view is the one thing Lance takes for himself from the budget. It still works out to be less than a salary.

JC's phone rings and Lance leaves him alone, goes out to approve some new grants and his schedule for the next month. Laurie hands him three days' messages and shuffles her paper clips. "Is it tough having everybody back together?" she asks. He's forgotten how when you do things in public everybody thinks they know what your life is like.

He opens his mouth to say something nice and then closes it again. Laurie was the first person he hired in Chicago, because she had fourteen months clean and wasn't too proud of herself for it, even if her hands and voice never shook while they sat at the bar for the interview. It was all part of this elaborate plot Chris still won't admit he engineered to keep Lance from turning into a bored housewife. Of course once Lance had an assistant, he needed work to give her. He wasn't about to pay for someone to sit around and babysit him, not even to make Chris happy. He supposes that was part of the plan, too.

"It's mostly overwhelming," he says. That's the only word that might fit properly. If anyone actually does know what his life is like on an average day, it's Laurie.

"Ma always swears she's gonna make us start coming home for the holidays in staggered shifts." Laurie has four brothers, equally pierced and tattooed and in and out of jail and rehab. Lance wishes sometimes with the guys it was as simple as genetics. "Course she's full of it. She'd be miserable if we weren't all there at once."

"Well, if we're ever crazy enough to do this again, maybe I'll hire you to be our manager," he says, and Laurie stacks contracts to review in his arms. He wanders back into his office to find JC sitting on the couch. JC closes his cell phone with his chin and presses his lips to the small square of plastic.

"Everything okay?" Lance asks.

"He's just really unhappy," JC says. "Orlando. He's really different. Or, I don't know. Maybe this is what he's like. It doesn't seem like he likes working very much."

He frowns and Lance rubs his shoulder. JC's never known how to deal with people who don't turn out to be what he'd wanted.

"I was just about to come home when I met him, you know." Lance shakes his head. JC stares at the floor. "I don't know what I thought I was going to find in Europe but it just wasn't happening."

"You would have figured it out. You'll figure this out." JC still doesn't seem to know this about himself, but he's the best decision-maker of them all. He does what he has to so life makes sense to him.

JC waves him off emphatically. "I didn't want to fight with a label over what songs to put on an album, or what category to stick my album in, or what city to be in tomorrow. They would have eaten me alive."

Lance hates that there are things you can say a million times that never sink in how they should. He tries again anyway. "You've always been stronger and tougher with those assholes than you gave yourself credit for, you know."

"The kids believe that when you tell them?"

"When they don't tell me to fuck off," Lance says. "And with them it's not even true half the time. You -- you know it's not even half the truth. You're too stubborn to let them break you like that."

JC's eyebrows crush together like he's trying to collapse his face bit by bit. "I don't know. And it just doesn't seem like Orlando wants me to be there, and I'm not sure I want to go back."

Lance digs his fingers into JC's knee until they're looking right at each other. "Until the day I die, honey, I'm gonna wonder how I wasn't smart enough to realize I'd be better off away from a world that wanted too much from me. Nobody got it, but you were right to do that."

JC looks away, but then he nods, that quiet sure assurance that at least he understands Lance has said something sincere. "Was it hard for you?"

"Which?" JC likes to have two conversations at once.

"Leaving." He stares out glumly at Lance's self-indulgent view.

Lance tries really hard not to wince. It's almost as painful to watch someone admit that's how bad things have gotten as it is to say it yourself. "Yeah. It was awful."

JC sighs like he was expecting that answer all along. "Is it awful now?"

"No." Lance swallows. "Now it's just like, I don't know. An old bruise. And a little overwhelming, everybody at once. I guess I thought I knew what it would be like."

"Is this...bad for you?" JC says it carefully, a timid twelve-step tiptoe.

"No, no. It's great. Really. It's awkward sometimes. But it's good to have everybody together again. Makes Chris happy."

"Not just Chris." JC kisses his cheek.

"Yeah," Lance admits. "Not just Chris."

Laurie pokes her head in. "ABC called, they want to come by and shoot some B-roll later," she says. "Katie has to go to the parks department about the lunchtime concert permits, but Bill and Mona and I will be here."

Lance stands up. "Whenever's good for you, go ahead." He turns to JC and smiles. "We're B-roll," he says.

"Just think, man, once we had the world at our feet."

Lance nods. "I like this better," he says, and JC smiles.

*

By the end of a second smooth day of rehearsals with no bigger argument than what kind of pizzas to get for lunch, they're ready to go out on the town. Lance lets Chris out of the booth and slides back in next to Justin, his arm up high on the pleated leather. Wonderland is packed, wall-to-wall flesh and bouncing beauties at the prime of their lives. It makes him feel old but also a little guilty, because he wouldn't trade what he knows now for how he looked then, not in a heartbeat. He can never decide if it's fair not to tell the kids that, too.

It's so loud he has to lean forward to catch every other word Justin says, something about Rosa's brother being a piano player, a birthday party in San Diego where he ran into a guy who knew JC, something he saw on TV last week that reminded him of Chris. The words come easily to Justin because he's good at reassuring himself that by speaking them, the feelings behind will come true. What he's really saying is that they can make idle, lazy chatter because things are okay between them, and Lance thinks he's not stretching the truth too much. They're almost there.

Justin nods emphatically while telling a story about a carpenter and a baby shower and his nose brushes Lance's cheek. He smells like he always did, sweet cologne, crisp soap and Tide, and Lance smiles because no matter what they do to each other or everyone around them to prove otherwise, some things are just not going to change. But Justin doesn't write love songs about Lance any more and they both know it's for the best.

"Excuse me," a woman in a tight blue shirt says, touching his shoulder. He pulls away from Justin and she holds up a small notebook. "I was just wondering --"

"Of course," Justin says, reaching for her pen and smiling with all his teeth. She looks surprised, caught getting what she wants without a fight, and sits down across the table. Justin automatically passes the pad to Lance, and he adds his name underneath along with the date.

"Actually," she says. "I was wondering how it is being back together."

"Oh, great," Justin says, nodding at Lance. "It's all this guy's idea, though."

Lance makes himself smile. "We just missed making music as a group," he says, looking over her shoulder to find Chris and the guys.

She laughs, her mouth barely open, and shakes her head. "I meant you two. It's so hard to keep track of the Lance and Justin show, on and off, off and on. But I can tell just from watching you it must be on again, and I was just wondering, how does it feel?"

Justin frowns in annoyance. Lance's throat constricts, and Chris' hand on the back of his neck is a warm, soft shock. "Who are you with?" Chris asks, loud and low, bending across the booth to stare into the woman's face. He flips her notebook closed and the WGN logo glows against its black background. "How about I have our people call your people?"

She starts to push away and then straightens her shoulders defensively. "Hey, I'm not the one who staged the comeback circus."

"Oh, excellent point," Chris says, and the icy freeze in Lance's throat slides down the front of his chest, squeezing his heart and lungs. They haven't had to practice the art of a clean, polite rescue in too long, and Chris was never so good at it to begin with. Lance can feel it all falling apart in front of him, and Chris is almost yelling now. "How did your people even get you in here? This is a private party. Maybe our people should just hire your people, and we can, like, consolidate our efforts."

She stands up and tucks the pad in her purse, the spiral binding sticking out like a claw. "I was --"

"Yeah, I'm all about consolidation," Chris says, taking a step closer. "That way --"

"Chris," Lance says, his hand on Chris' back. It's as far as he can reach to stop things from getting worse.

Chris sits down and crosses his arms. "It's okay," he says. "She was just leaving." She takes her notebook with her.

After a long minute when no one says a word and it's starting to look like no one ever will, Justin gets up. He goes four feet and whips around, coming back to the table and leaning on it with both hands. "I do not," he says, tightly, "need either of you handling me with the press. Not for my own protection, and not because you can't handle the questions they're asking." And then he walks off.

"Shit," Chris says, and his menacing stance goes from stiff to slouched like a wire's been cut. He sighs and rubs a thumb hard over his forehead, and Lance puts an arm around him. "I mean, who fucking let her in?"

"It's a bar, Chris, and actually I think she's on the list for tomorrow." Chris puts his head down on the table and Lance rubs his back. "Susanna gave us a bunch of names and I said okay. We have to do some press."

"Sure, yeah, but not like this. Down at the NBC studios with lighting and a nice couch, not some trashy bimbo who ambushes you when I walk away for two minutes."

It's been years since anyone tried to ambush them with anything and Lance forgot how angry Chris gets, how much he blames himself. "She wasn't that trashy."

"That's not my point."

Lance sighs. "I know. But Lord knows Justin spent long enough listening to me tell him what to say."

"That was your job," Chris says.

"Maybe it wasn't. It's definitely not anymore."

This is what it would actually be like if they went on tour again, stupid questions in every city, and every time someone would overreact because they don't do this all the time anymore, they're not the perfectly balanced five-headed beast they once were, and maybe he doesn't have a clue what will set who off any more. For Chris getting angry is the only way he knows to keep them safe.

Lance tilts his head until their cheeks are touching. "Thank you," he says. "Justin will be fine. I'll be fine."

"I guess my work here is done," Chris says. His eyes are shining and his mouth is glum. Lance kisses him.

"Let's go home. Let's just go home. Tomorrow we're gonna figure out how we used to do this all the time and, I don't know, maybe we'll just make Joey and JC do all the answering."

"They probably would if we asked."

"You know they would," Lance says, pushing Chris out of the booth and dropping some money on the table. Justin sheepishly waves over at their table, a sloshing drink in each hand until JC snags one, shoving him back on the dance floor. "I thought that's why you made sure there were five of us. So there's plenty to go around when we get ourselves into trouble."

Chris holds his hand tight. "Just didn't want to be alone," he says.

*

They have another day of rehearsals and then a late dinner at the house. After, JC sits at his old piano in the music room and picks at the same few notes in a row, over and over. Justin and Chris are watching a Cubs game. Joey's on the phone with Kelly. For a brief flicker Lance forgets that there's been almost twenty years between that awful little house in Florida and this one, twenty years and a few million moments that almost were, that were and then were over.

He's glad he's got sobriety well in hand if this is all it takes for him to feel so unbalanced, just a few days with these guys who he knows like family, who he loves like he never had any say in the matter. He can't remember a time before they were all each other's business. He can't believe he went so long acting like he had any control over whether they stayed that way. They learned how to deal with the world all together, and maybe they have to do it different now, have to keep each other on track like grown-ups instead of overgrown kids. But they have to do it. It's the only thing that works.

Chris heaves himself up off the couch with an exaggerated moan and Justin gives him a shove with his foot for good measure. Lance is leaning against the marble breakfast bar, flipping through a magazine, and Chris grabs him around the waist as he passes. "Someone needs his beauty sleep," Chris says, and Lance lets himself be pulled along.

"Good night, boys," he says, and Justin looks up, giving them a soft-edged smile over the back of the couch. Wistful, almost, just a little jealous, and Lance wonders what Justin was thinking about while he watched the game, whether everyone else has spent the last week as caught up in old habits and wild dreams as he has.

Chris steers him upstairs with a hand on his back and they take a short, hot shower together before bed. "I remember now how this is the easy part," Chris says, as they crawl under the covers. "Here at home, just the five of us. This was never the part we wanted to stop doing."

Lance yawns and turns off the light on his nightstand. "Mm-hmm," he mumbles. "Coming home with you makes it easy." Chris props up another pillow and reaches for his book, dropping a kiss on Lance's forehead.

*

They need three cars to get to the show, because Joey has to pick up the girls at Midway and Justin's meeting Rosa an hour later at O'Hare. Lance and Chris and JC drive into the city together in the Avanti. Chris sits in the back in the middle, his arms slung over each seat. JC points out a long flowing kite someone's flying in Lincoln Park, yards of bright yellow and orange and red like a fire in mid-air. "Those would be pretty on stage," he says.

Chris touches a finger lightly to Lance's neck and says, "Hey, C, you still have all your tapes, right?"

"Yeah, they're in Munich." There are ten years of songs locked in a temperature-controlled vault, laid down during week-long escapes. JC always loved making music more than releasing it. He always survived by going back to it when the rest of them were busy trying to survive being in love with each other. But he hasn't been on a stage with an audience since they split up.

Lance stops at a light and waves an old couple across. "You know we bought this recording studio over on the West Side? We wanted a place for kids to do demos that wouldn't cost them an arm and a leg, so they trade off time working there or at events."

JC taps his fingers on the door handle, and out of the corner of his eye Lance can see Chris squeeze JC's shoulder. Chris says, "We've got plenty of space if you want to stay a while, barricade the doors and see what happens."

It's quiet for a minute as Lance pulls into the empty parking lot at the bar. Even Chris is silent, and then JC says, "Okay, maybe. I'll think about it."

"We've got plenty of time, too," Lance says. "We're not going anywhere. You stay as long as you want."

*

Lance sits at Chris' desk in the office upstairs and goes over the details one more time. He picked the promoter who didn't try to talk them into a bigger venue, who understood there was a reason they'd rather pack five hundred people into the bar than sell nostalgia by the pound in an arena. They'll make enough off the on-demand sales to cover costs and a sizable donation.

"This isn't about the fans," he told Chris, the closest he came to admitting why he'd bothered to drag them all out of their comfort zones. Chris said he knew what Lance meant.

They sang a thousand shows and Lance only remembers snatches of those years, fragments from performances he can usually identify only by the costumes they're wearing in his memories. JC in sparkling magenta, pressing against his hip as the stage whirs and moves beneath them. Joey wearing a fedora, waggling his fingers and doing the twist. Justin touching his back as they pass on stage and leaning over to say, "We going out after, right?" His hands on Chris' ankles, pulling up fast and sure.

A thousand shows and that's what he has left, a handful of memories that he wouldn't trade for all the money in the world. If he adds even one tonight it will be enough, one with the audience clapping and all of them enjoying themselves and each other. One moment to go with the week of confessions and rollercoaster emotions. He doesn't think it's too much to ask for all they've given up in exchange.

The door opens and Chris slides in through a wave of human noise, people talking loudly over the house music.

"Man, it is complete pandemonium down there," Chris says. He flops down in a chair and puts his boots up on the desk. "Claude says there's another six, seven hundred folks outside lined up, trying to get in. And we don't go on for an hour and a half."

"Want to make a run for it?"

"We'd have to move fast, get as far away as possible before dawn. Never contact anyone we know ever again. Disappear completely."

"They'd probably still find us," Lance says.

"They always do." Chris smiles, a full-on delighted madcap grin. Lance loves Chris like he's swallowed a solar system whole, sun-stars bursting through his skin, bright and hot, and he's glad he gave up drinking before they got together because he wouldn't have wanted to miss a minute of being this alive. "So, I was thinking --"

"I did this for you," Lance says. "I mean, I know everybody's glad to be here, but I knew how much you wanted me and Justin to be okay. And I knew what you really wanted was to believe it hadn't been some kind of mistake, getting us all together, finding Lou a group, keeping us from self-destructing when we were being a bunch of dumb kids looking for trouble, and --"

"Hey --" Chris gets up and comes around the desk. He kneels next to Lance and pulls him down so they're looking eye to eye.

"It was the best thing that ever happened to me. To all of us."

Chris reaches out and grabs the front of Lance's shirt. "Okay, okay."

"Not all, you know, not all this, people downstairs and houses and cars and whatever. This, all of us knowing each other, being there for each other when we need it." He sniffs.

"Baby, I think you're having some kind of freakout here," Chris says, and holds Lance's face in his hands.

Lance kisses him, holds on for dear life with his hands and mouth and years of figuring out how to get this moment right. "I just wanted to make sure you knew," he says.

Chris nods and his eyes water. "Yeah." He stands up slowly and leans against the desk. "So what's going on?"

"What?"

"You look like you're trying to decide something, but you're not sure it's your call."

Lance sits up and straightens out his shirt. Downstairs the crowd is cheering and clapping, stomping and screaming something over and over. Chris can always tell what kind of dream Lance is having by watching him sleep, so Lance doesn't know for a second why something like this would be any different. "You think maybe we should go out and do this for real?"

Chris crosses his arms. "A tour, you mean." Lance nods. "We haven't even gotten through one show, Lance. They could boo us off stage. They could throw things. JC could fall on his face and break all his teeth."

"You know how it's gonna go." They both do. This is what they know, this life and each other.

"Yeah, and I know how it would go on tour, too. We'd be on the bus all the time. We'd be giving interviews to idiots and singing till we've got no voice."

Lance shrugs and leans back in his chair. "We're in charge now. We don't have to do anything that doesn't make it worth doing."

"You're serious about this."

"I'm serious about talking about it. We gotta talk about it, Chris. We don't talk about it, we're just ignoring it."

Chris sighs, his breath catching on the way out. Lance reaches out and rests his hand on Chris' hip. "We could end up hating each other," Chris says.

"We didn't last time. Worst thing that happened last time was we forgot how bad we all need each other. And even that we figured out eventually."

"Have you considered the possibility that maybe it's not in everybody's best interests to do this? Joey's not looking for a reason to miss out on Bri starting high school. Maybe Justin's not looking to be one of five again. And JC, you know, I think he's gonna remember tonight how much he likes a crowd, but I don't think that makes him ready to tour."

Lance stands up and puts his arms around Chris. "I'm not saying we have to decide yes, I'm just saying we have to actually have the conversation."

"Well..."

"Well what?" He kisses Chris. He only wants to keep talking about this if Chris does too. Chris has finally figured out that he'll get stuck on the edge, staring down at the long fall, if he doesn't live a step ahead of himself. Lance likes to plan out their future inch by inch, steady as the crawl of light across a sundial. It works because either way they stick together. It works because they've got other folks helping them stay stuck.

"Well," Chris says. "Well, let's go get the guys and talk about it, then."

**Author's Note:**

> This was utterly dependent upon the soundtrack, especially Crosby, Stills & Nash: "To sing the blues/You've got to live the tunes/And carry on."


End file.
